


not bad, Santa

by jessiedress



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, sexting but not like you'd think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessiedress/pseuds/jessiedress
Summary: Three little Arthur and Eames ficlets, all inspired by the same real-life sext (which I was neither the sender nor recipient of).AKA this is what happens when vacation goes on too long and dapperfemme puts bad, bad ideas in my head.





	1. #1 - In a Warehouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DapperFemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperFemme/gifts).



> When writing chapter three I was totally thinking of earlgreytea's NBT Arthur and Eames.

“You know, I had a dream about you last night, darling,” Eames called out across the room as Arthur entered. Arthur knew Eames was waggling his eyebrows without even sparing a glance in his direction. He went on about his business, setting down his briefcase and getting his things arranged at the table in their makeshift warehouse office. 

“How lovely Mr. Eames, please do tell me all about it,” Arthur sighed, working to keep his tone somewhere between bored and irritated, but secretly hoping Eames actually _would_ tell him all about it. 

Arthur settled himself in his chair and was just about to sneak a glance in the direction of the couch, where no doubt Eames was reclining, when he suddenly felt the brush of lips at his ear. Arthur froze. Eames could move quietly, when he wanted to. 

“I was sitting at a bar, having a few drinks. Then someone walked up and whispered in my ear,” Eames said, dropping his voice into that Godawful sexy whisper Arthur simply loathed, “I couldn’t make it out, but as I turned to see who it was - there you were. Less than an inch from my face,” he leaned in as he continued until his chest was pressing against Arthur’s shoulder, “eye to eye.” 

Arthur could feel the sharp edges of the arms of his chair digging into his hands where he gripped them, trying to look casual. He took a deep breath, and tried not to sound too strangled as he exhaled, opting to clear his throat instead. Eames had to know the effect his words were having on Arthur. This had to stop. Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Eames continued on. 

“You gave me a little wink, cheeky bastard. As you sat down I saw you had a little Santa top and skirt on.” 

Arthur choked out a garbled sound of objection, “Excuse me! A _Santa top and skirt_?! What the hell, Eames!?” He could feel anger rising over his … other feelings caused by Eames whispering in his ear, and spun around in his office chair, fixing Eames with a glare. 

But Eames was unfazed, “It was quite like this, really,” he whispered, leaning in a little closer until, yeah, he was about an inch from Arthur’s face, eyes dancing with mischief. Arthur took a deep rattling breath. 

“Mr. Eames, you are the worst,” he grated out through clenched teeth, before grabbing Eames by the collar and dragging him in for a crushing kiss.


	2. #2 - In a Bar

If he wanted to make this work, he had to move quickly. They’d left Cobb and Ariadne in the lobby keeping lookout, and Arthur should be on this way to the bar to wait for the mark … Eames glanced at his watch. Now. Arthur should be on his way to the bar _now_. 

Eames closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them to stare at himself in the mirror as he exhaled. Maroon velvet, yes, that would do nicely. He leaned toward the mirror, licked his finger and carefully fixed the wing of his eyeliner on the right side. Perfect. He snatched the gold clutch off the dresser, checking to make sure room key and lipgloss were both tucked in it, and headed for the elevator. 

—

Arthur looked around the bar casually as he strode in. No sign of Martin yet, so he took a seat at the empty end of the bar and unbuttoned his jacket. Everything was on track. He ordered a scotch and took a sip of it before stealing a glance at his watch. He still had a few more minutes, no need to worry. Cobb and Ariadne were in the lobby keeping watch and Eames … well, Eames was doing whatever he did. 

He was glancing at his watch again (bad habit), when another patron brushed against his left shoulder. Arthur tensed instinctively, fighting the urge to reach for his gun, and forced himself to finish checking the time.

“Five minutes,” a sweet, breathy voice whispered in his ear so softly it could almost have been his imagination. Arthur turned slowly, “Excuse me?” he said, affecting a charming half smile, “What was that?” 

As he finished turning he found himself eye to eye with a strange woman, definitely not Martin or any of his associates they’d uncovered during their research. He’d have remembered the dark green eyebrows. She smiled broadly at him, and he couldn't help but ask, “Are those tattooed on?” 

Her laugh said everything, she must hear that all the time. She leaned back and turned her head to catch the bartender’s eye, “Four Roses, neat please,” she turned back toward Arthur, “No darling, they’re eyeshadow, you see? I change them as I please.” 

There was something in her voice that struck Arthur as familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He glanced in the mirror behind the bar, the room was filling, but there was still no sign of his mark. No harm in a little conversation then. 

The lady with the eyebrows tapped her nails on the bar and took a sip of her drink. Right. Arthur turned to face her, keeping the mirror in the corner of his eye, it wouldn’t do to be rude, but it wouldn’t do to miss the mark either. 

“How silly of me, of course they are. I’m Charles, and you are?” he paused, taking a look at her. Really taking a look at her for the first time. He couldn’t hide his surprise, he knew he looked startled. She gave a little smirk and winked at him. 

“Its Sonya,” she said, angling her shoulders to better face him, “You like the outfit?” 

Arthur gave it some thought. Apart from being ridiculous, the outfit was incredible. He couldn’t help it, he reached out, stroking the crushed velvet of her sleeve with the tips of his fingers. “It is amazing,” he breathed out, “It’s perfect.” 

Sonya raised an eyebrow, but she looked pleased. Arthur couldn’t help but continue. “I must admit, I’m a bit perplexed by the theme, but the velvet, and these details.” He let his hand drift down to the hem of her skirt, just above her knee, and caressed the gold embroidery at the hem. “I haven't seen work like this in years, is this hand done? I used to have a woman, she did all the monograms on my handkerchiefs by hand, I haven't seen work this lovely since she passed.” He let out a sigh, “So lovely, machine work just can’t match it.” 

As he looked up from her hemline, Arthur caught sight of Martin sitting at one of the cocktail tables to the left, he’d completely missed him in the mirror. “Shit,” he grumbled under his breath. Sonya followed his glance and slid off the barstool, resting her hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Looks like you’re out of time, sweetheart,” she leaned in close to Arthur’s ear, voice dropping, “such a shame, maybe next time I’ll make the outfit less nostalgic.” Arthur’s skin went hot and cold all at once as her tongue barely touched his ear, the tiniest lick. He gasped in a rattling breath and watched as she walked away. His heart was racing and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was … Eames?


	3. #3 - In a Bed

“Darling, wake up darling,” Eames whines, shaking Arthur, “I have something to tell you.” 

“Mhm, am up, what is it?” Arthur groans as he rolls over and glances at the clock. It is only 6:53 and his first showing isn’t until eleven! Why is Eames waking him up so early?!

“Don’t be surly, darling, I had a dream about you,” Eames croons. He looks like it is Christmas, which is frankly intolerable at this hour of the morning. 

“Tell me,” Arthur replies grumpily, rolling over and scooting across the bed until he has effectively forced Eames to take the position of the big spoon, and is bumping his ass against Eames’s cock, “mmm, tell me!” 

“I was sitting at a bar having a few drinks,” Eames drawls, reaching across to pull Arthur impossibly closer, snuggling his cock between Arthur’s ass cheeks and resting his hand low on Arthur’s stomach, “Then, someone walked in and whispered in my ear.” 

“Mmm, was it me? What did I say?” Arthur asks, happy to play along if having Eames hard against his ass has anything to do with where this story is going. 

“Don’t interrupt, darling, be patient,” Eames whispers in his ear. “As I was saying. Someone walked in and whispered in my ear, just like this.” Eames leans up and presses the side of his mouth against Arthur’s earlobe, and Arthur can’t help but sigh. 

“I couldn’t make it out, what they said, but as I turned to see who it was, there you were.” Eames scoots back fractionally and moves his hand to Arthur’s shoulder, urging him to roll over so they are facing each other, and leans in as if to kiss him. “There you were, less than an inch from my face, eye to eye,” he mutters, tracing his finger along Arthur’s bottom lip before dropping his hand down to skate over Arthur’s chest, absently brushing his nipple with a thumb. 

Arthur inhales sharply and closes his eyes as Eames continues, “Then you gave me a cheeky little wink,” Eames hand is burning against Arthur’s belly now, inches from his cock. Arthur is a fan of this dream, as far as he is concerned all of his mornings can start like this. He covers Eames’s hand with his own, rolling his hips gently, “I knew it was me.” 

Arthur pushes Eames over onto his back and swings a leg over his hips, hoisting himself up to straddle Eames’s lap. He stretches dramatically and rubs the sleep from his eyes, taking a moment to grind slowly against Eames, enjoying the jolts of pleasure as his cock rubs against Eames’s, trapped between his belly and Arthur. He leans down to grab Eames by the undershirt and whispers, “not bad. Tell me more about this dream?” 

Eames maybe is just a tiny bit caught up in the moment, meeting the motion of Arthur’s hips with his own. 

“Eames,” Arthur repeats, “Tell me more about the dream.”

“Right,” Eames says, shaking his head as if shaking his lust off for a moment. He clears his throat, grabs Arthur by the hips, and thrusts firmly up before he continues. “So, you gave me a cheeky little wink. You sat down at the bar in a little Santa skirt and top getup.” 

Arthur groans, and not in the sexy way. “Eames!” he moans, “this is what I get up to in your dreams? Prancing around in a little Santa skirt and top?” 

“Darling, darling, hush,” Eames keeps his voice low, holding Arthur’s hips in place, “we haven’t gotten to the best part.” Eames is a sneaky bastard, and before he knows it Arthur is flat on his back, one of Eames’s forearms pinning his hips despite his protests, “Santa getups are NOT sexy, Eames!” 

“Shhh, darling, I promise we are getting to the best part,” Eames whispers, biting a trail down Arthur’s belly between words, “We are getting to the best part.” Arthur can feel Eames’s breath hot over his erection now, and can’t help but groan, shifting his hips a little as he mutters, “there is nothing sexy about that getup, I don’t care how much Christmas spirit you,” but he’s cut short by Eames licking a hot line up the underside of his cock, Eames’s tongue feels liquid hot, even through his boxers and Arthur lets out a sigh. Its meant to sound resigned, but damn that feels good. 

Arthur reaches down and grabs his the waistband of his boxers, trying to lift his hips to shimmy them off despite the weight of Eames’s arm on his hips, “Less talking, more making up to me for how terrible your dreams are.” 

Eames grins and grabs at Arthur’s boxers with one hand, keeping his hips pinned with the other and throws them over the side of the bed before grabbing the base of Arthur’s cock. He strokes just a little, tiny halfway twisting motions, and dips to bring the head against his lips. And oh he knows Arthur can’t stay mad at him like this, not when he’s kissing down Arthur’s cock with that mouth, teasing and teasing when he knows Arthur just wants him to fucking get on with it already. 

“Eaaaaaaaames,” Arthur manages to sigh, making tiny aborted thrusts with his hips, “Please?” 

“Please?” Eames replies, with a sparkle in his eye, “Please? Oh darling. Right, where was I?” 

All Arthur feels is warm wet suction around his cock as Eames takes him all the way into his mouth, the head bumping against his throat. He rests there for a minute before moving down further, slowly, fighting his gag reflex, Arthur can tell by the way Eames’s throat flutters around his cock. They both groan, Eames muffled as Arthur tries to thrust up and finds he is still firmly pinned by Eames’s forearm. Arthur breathes deeply as Eames slowly works his way back up, letting Arthur slide out of his mouth with a pop. And then, darling,” he says, looking Arthur right in the eye, his voice rough, “I sucked your cock under that sweet little skirt.” 

Arthur feels his face heating with indignation. He reaches down and grabs Eames by the back of the head, shoves Eames’s face back down toward his aching cock and says sternly, “No more talking, Mr. Eames.” 


End file.
